Dry Stone Wall

Flies stitch unseen

across the valley,

caught when they break

below the wall

stacked solid

and unalterable now,

though chiselling once

shaped each rough block.

On through the county

with others at angles

not quite square,

moulded by hillside and moor,

it moves a path past

all still builders.

Bees droop along its length,

a jet shatters overhead:

nipped grass flakes here,

stone chocks;

stolid.

 

Boundaries

 

One foot hops

where rates are paid,

the other flops where you live;

he cackles mid-road,

blind to villas

mad with pastel,

laurels greening

fencing drab

as a town hall flag,

bunting bruised

in gutters beyond

glint, carnival carts;

you on one pavement,

I on the other,

dismay his air,

our fingers banners,

waving, the flutter,

flick of them passing,

past.  

Slug it Out

Slithermost

ghost of the coalhole,

dank, the slick

from the brick above,

slime-trail wide

as your black

eyes’ swivel,

where are you going,

my little man?

Market trotting’s

too damn quick

as you gloop

over slurry,

gunk your way

where leeks rot?

Slow on the stone

where salt licks.

Froth.